The Finer Points of Fiancés
by trufflemores
Summary: Kurt gets sick but doesn't want to admit it. Luckily, Blaine knows him better. Takes place around fall, 2014. Sick!Kurt. Kurt/Blaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

**The lovely Caitlin wanted sick!Kurt with snuggles, and Jen also wanted sick!Kurt with snuggles, so I finally wrote sick!Kurt with snuggles!** **Enjoy.** **~5,000 words** **Also available on AO3.**

By midweek, Kurt's resolution to hide his flagging health had waned considerably.

He didn't want to worry anyone, especially Isabelle, who was needed him to ensure that the correct calls were forwarded to higher-ups during the onset of the winter sale season, but even switching from coffee to tea hadn't curbed the slight raspiness in his voice by noon. He waved it off as exhaustion and begged off for a couple hours for a rejuvenating nap at the loft while Blaine was still in class and Rachel and Santana were working at the diner.

His nap only lasted twenty minutes, however, before his phone vibrated and a despondent Blaine inquired if he would be willing to meet him at their favorite bakery for a little pick-me-up. Kurt hesitated, tempted to lie and say that he was still at work if only to steal a few more minutes of sleep before sighing and responding that he would be there in ten minutes.

Sitting across from Blaine in a red button-up with gray scarf and his most comfortable pair of white pants, Kurt could almost forgot his own discomfort as he reached across the table to lay a concerned hand over one of Blaine's. His dress was subdued, a simple white polo with a pair of black jeans a blue and white striped bow tie that Kurt had picked out.

Blaine's eyes flicked up to Kurt's without prompting and he offered him a smile as he turned his hand over and squeezed Kurt's.

"Tell me what happened," Kurt prompted, rubbing his thumb over the backs of Blaine's knuckles. He cleared his throat gently and took a sip of his own tea to disguise the slight crackle in it; Blaine didn't seem to notice as he launched into a halting reiteration of his morning.

As it had turned out, Blaine had had almost as much luck with Cassie July as Rachel had. Kurt suspected that their physical similarities had brought back all the former animosities that had died down between Rachel and Cassie, inspiring a new round of scathing comments based on everything from Blaine's appearance to his "lukewarm, forgettable, uninspiring" voice. Kurt squeezed his hand as he explained that unless he shaped up then Cassie would cut him from the program, and without an alternate musical theater program to enroll in, he would have to search for another major.

"Maybe we were wrong and I should just pursue a medical career," Blaine offered, resting his head in one hand as he looked across the table at Kurt morosely. "I can't imagine it's any worse."

"Cassie's always at her worst the first semester," Kurt said, grateful for the excuse to focus on Blaine's problems instead of his own. "Once she realizes that you're serious about the program, she'll stop bothering you. But you can't let her break you down now." Squeezing his hand, he added simply, "It's only been a month. You can do this."

Blaine looked at him doubtfully for a moment before sighing, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I know. And I'm sorry. I guess I never realized that college would be _exactly _like high school sometimes."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked, frowning, and Blaine avoided his eyes, plucking thoughtfully at his coffee cup instead.

"They're just . . . a lot more cutthroat than I am," he admitted.

Kurt could sympathize with that; he easily recalled a time when Rachel's _sycophants _had been the daily bane of his enrollment at NYADA.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for performance," Blaine said carefully, staring down at their intertwined hands, his own fidgeting slightly.

"Honey," Kurt said, squeezing his hand to still it. "You were born to be on a stage. You can't quit now just because a few wannabes are trying to drive you away." Waiting until Blaine met his gaze, he added seriously, "I had my doubts, too. But I know you. And I know that you can do this." Letting that sink in, he squeezed Blaine's hand again to silence him as he opened his mouth to respond, saying simply, "But I won't force you into it. I'll support you whatever you choose, wherever you go. Okay?"

Blaine gazed at him silently for a moment before nodding once, a real smile crossing his lips for the first time since they'd arrived at the bakery. "Okay," he agreed.

Glancing down at his watch, Kurt released his hand with one last squeeze, grateful to have resolved at least _one _matter. "I need to be back at the office in half an hour," he said apologetically, rising to his feet and shrugging on his gray jacket. "I could walk you back to the loft, if you want?"

Kurt knew it wasn't a question as Blaine rose to his own feet with a nod, donning his own coat and draping his satchel over one shoulder as he followed Kurt out the door.

The air outside was brisk with the encroaching fall, the last dregs of summer already fading from the air. Huddled close as he was to Blaine, Kurt could almost feel the warmth radiating from him as they walked arm-in-arm back to their apartment. Even though he knew that not every passerby regarded him with affection because of it, he couldn't bring himself to care; the novelty of having a boyfriend, a _fiance, _in New York, was too sweet to resist.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Blaine asked, startling Kurt from his thoughts as he pulled him back onto the sidewalk, away from oncoming traffic. "You seem . . . distracted."

"Sorry," Kurt said, waving a hand in airy dismissal. He did his best to smile reassuringly as he added, "I'm just thinking about how nice it'll be to get the winter sales over with."

Blaine smiled back at him, easily swayed, and the rest of the walk was idle between them, only the sounds of New York to accompany them. Kurt was so used to the constant noise that it still surprised him at how _quiet _the loft seemed by comparison, even though he knew that it was still noisy enough to keep Blaine awake at times. New York was definitely an adjustment, but it was a worthwhile trade to the pervasive silence of Ohio.

"Are you sure you have to go back?" Blaine wheedled, draping his coat and satchel over one of the kitchen chairs as he sidled up behind Kurt and wrapped his arms around his waist. Nuzzling the back of his neck, he murmured, "We haven't had the loft to ourselves in weeks."

"I know," Kurt replied, and in spite of the headache making itself known behind his temples, he was tempted. Isabelle would understand if he took the afternoon off. He could work remote for a few hours and then call it a night. He had never taken a day off before, and he knew that the interns could hold down the fort for one evening.

But conceding would be admitting weakness, and he knew that he couldn't allow himself to falter _now _when he was so close to the weekend. "I'll be back by four," he promised, turning around to kiss Blaine's forehead and ignoring his pout. He wanted to kiss it away, but he knew that Blaine could be altogether too persuasive when it came to kissing and he needed to be back at the office before he lost every last bit of his resolve.

Blaine kissed his cheek before he could escape his hold completely and grinned when Kurt rolled his eyes at him, stepping back to let Kurt smooth down his jacket. Not that it needed to be, of course; it was simply nice to have a distraction.

"Be good," he told Blaine before ducking out the door, refusing to be swayed back into complacence.

He thought he caught Blaine saluting playfully in his direction as he shut the door, but it might just have been his imagination.

. o .

By late afternoon, Kurt's voice was so raspy that he could barely talk. He still managed to redirect the last few calls of his shift without arousing suspicion before slouching out of his chair, work bag already in hand. He staggered over to the printer for a copy of his calls for the day before tucking them into a folder and putting that into his bag, locking the door behind him as he departed.

He almost walked headfirst into Isabelle as she exited _her _office, startling a laugh out of her as she reached out to steady him when he faltered. "Hey, Kurt. Heading out?"

"Did you need me for anything else?" Kurt asked, stomach sinking as he realized that she might have been on her way to fetch him for another errand. He loved Isabelle and he knew that it was generous beyond compare that she had allowed him to schedule his work week around his classes, but he also dreaded the thought of staying any longer.

"No, I was just going to drop this off with one of the secretaries at the front," Isabelle said. Kurt hoped his shoulders didn't slouch too visibly in relief; it would be unbecoming to appear too grateful for the reprieve. At Isabelle's soft smile, however, he knew he hadn't quite succeeded. "You've been a big help this week, Kurt," she said simply.

Kurt bowed his head in acquiescence, answering quietly, "I try."

Isabelle nodded at him, stepping aside to let him pass her in the hallway before adding over her shoulder, "If you ever change your mind about that internship . . . you know where to reach me."

Kurt hesitated, pausing mid-step. "I'd love to accept it," he said honestly. He knew that he would have, two years ago in Ohio, desperate for any opportunity to be in New York, let alone working with part of Vogue dot com. But he also couldn't give up on NYADA - he couldn't tell Blaine that he belonged on a stage and then deny _himself _when he knew that it was true - and Isabelle understood that. "Maybe someday," he allowed. "When I'm not tied down to NYADA."

Isabelle nodded. "I understand. Have a good day, Kurt." She disappeared around the corner and, after a perfunctory pause to see if another thought might oblige her to return, he did the same around the opposite end of the hallway.

The walk home was even longer than the return trip had been. By the time he pushed back the door to the loft, he was exhausted and more than willing to forgo everything but _sleep _until -

_Thwack!_

"Nailed it!" Dani crowed, Santana cackling at her side as Elliot kicked back his feet on the floor by the couch where they were seated.

"C'mon, guys, be nice," he chided them, lifting a pillow off the floor and chucking it at Dani. "Hey, Kurt," he added in greeting, oblivious to the exhausted slump of his shoulders. "Where were you? Our meeting started twenty minutes ago."

"Is _that _why you've already busted out our supply of sparkling cider?" Kurt asked, voice lacking heat as he draped his jacket over one of the chairs carefully. He would worry about hanging it up later. All he wanted was a shower, a comfy pair of pajamas, and sleep, but Elliot was looking at him expectantly and he knew that he wouldn't be able to dismiss them without a full explanation as to why he was skipping his own band's meeting. Which he wasn't willing to divulge. Rachel would go crazy on him if she even suspected that he was sick, and Santana tended to make his life exasperating enough on a regular basis without sniffles involved in the mix.

He spared a single forlorn look around the apartment, hoping without enthusiasm that one of Blaine's evening classes cancelled and he might be home. No such luck - his satchel was gone.

"Earth to Kurt," Elliot called teasingly, pulling him away from his thoughts as Kurt turned slowly to face them. "Is now a bad time?"

"No, no," Kurt said, grateful that his voice sounded intelligible, at least, if not as strong as normal. None of them seemed to notice as he stepped over toward their circle, pausing several feet away with his arms folded across his chest. "Thank you for coming out," he said, addressing those remarks to Elliot and Dani.

"Sorry for throwing a pillow at your head," Dani replied. "I thought you were Blaine."

"Blaine doesn't get back until seven," Kurt reminded. "And don't throw pillows at him, either," he added sternly, Dani's smile deflating to a pout. "Anywaaay," he continued, not allowing any of them to sidetrack the conversation as Santana reached down and lazily snatched the bottle of sparkling cider from Elliot's grasp, "I wanted you here today so we can talk about potential gigs for this year." Clearing his throat to keep it from rasping _too _much, he added, "Any suggestions?"

"Actually, I have a couple," Elliot said, sitting up a little as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through a list that he'd made, reading the options aloud. Kurt nodded along while Santana and Dani bantered back and forth with them, entertaining an air of aloofness as he paced slowly, feigning consideration. In truth, he was counting the minutes until Blaine arrived, hoping that maybe by some twist of fate class would be cancelled early or time would spontaneously move faster.

Neither obliged, and he was almost grateful for the pillow that Dani chucked at his head, drawing him back to the present. "So, what do you think, oh wise leader?" she asked.

"I think we need to keep our options open," Kurt answered succinctly, not deigning to respond to the pillow as he rested a hand on the back of a chair to steady himself. "I'd like to book another gig at the Williamsburg Music Hall again, if we can."

"I can talk to the manager?" Elliot offered. His natural charisma charmed him to most people, Kurt had learned, once they were considered decent enough to perform as a band. Having him around had been an even bigger bonus than Kurt had been expecting, and he nodded in acknowledgment, grateful that he wouldn't have to tackle it.

He loved the band, but between the band, his work, his classes, and his fiance, he was exhausted. Having someone else step in felt like a weight lift off his shoulders, even as fatigue threatened to drag him back down.

"I'm going to take a shower before Rachel gets home and steals all the hot water," Kurt said before they could start on another tangent.

Elliot rose to his feet in response, smiling at him as he said, "Take it easy, Kurt. I'll let you know what the manager says."

"Thank you," Kurt said, his voice crackling a little in the middle. He winced, feigning a search for a glass of water while Elliot said his goodbyes to Santana and Dani before leaving, eventually giving up once he was gone and bee-lining for the bathroom. He locked the door behind himself and turned the shower on, slowly divulging himself of his clothing and stepping under the hot spray, closing his eyes.

. o .

"Kurt? Honey? Are you okay?"

Kurt blinked and shivered once hard as he realized that the water had gone from steaming to lukewarm, rapidly turning to _cold _as he shut off the faucet. He heard Blaine knock on the door again, twisting the handle futilely and letting out another worried, "Kurt?"

"I'm here," he called out, voice barely recognizable. "I'm here," he called again, a little more clearly, as he hastily towel-dried himself before draping the towel around his hips and tugging the door open.

Blaine's eyebrows were drawn down in worry, relaxing when Kurt appeared. "Hey," he greeted, warm and earnest as always.

"Hi," Kurt echoed, wincing as he reached up to rub his throat. "I'm sorry, my mouth is just . . . really dry."

"I'll get you a water," Blaine said, hurrying off to oblige even as Kurt made a soft sound of protest. He doubted water would help him; nothing had, earlier, and the throbbing in his head was back in full force now that he was out of the shower. He almost hated that Blaine had interrupted it. Before the water had started to run cold, it really had been wonderful, soothing the sore ache that had been building in his muscles all day.

It clicked for him then just how long he must have been standing in the shower to have missed Blaine's arrival. His ears pinked in embarrassment as he wandered over to the shelves along the bathroom wall for a comb, smoothing down his hair before retreating to their bedroom.

"Here," Blaine offered, meeting him halfway as Kurt held the towel around his hips with one hand and accepted the water with the other, taking a slow, careful sip from it. He wandered into the bedroom without waiting for a response, setting the water aside and pulling out his comfiest pair of pajamas.

Working mechanically, he set the towel aside and tugged on the clothes, oblivious to Blaine's presence near the door until he sidled up behind him and held him close in a hug. "Why don't you get in bed and I'll bring you dinner?" he offered, sensing Kurt's crumpling resolve to ignore the problem.

His head ached, his throat felt serrated, and his limbs were so sore that even standing was an effort that he couldn't bear for more than a moment before he collapsed into his side of the bed. He hadn't even noticed that Blaine had pulled back the covers already before he was smoothly tucking them over Kurt, kissing his forehead once and making a thoughtful sound in reply.

"Don't go to sleep yet," he warned, and Kurt made a confirmatory noise at him.

Of course he wouldn't sleep. He was just resting his eyes; in a moment, he would get up and eat dinner with them and listen to Rachel complain about her day and Santana complain about Rachel's complaining while Blaine attempted to mediate. Then he would sit down to watch a _Downton Abbey _marathon for a few hours before curling up with Blaine in bed to snatch a few lovely hours of sleep before his morning classes.

All of that, he planned to do, until his head touched the pillow and his body settled into the mattress snugly.

And then he was gone, asleep before Blaine's footsteps had faded from hearing.

. o .

Kurt was hot. So, so hot, and he couldn't understand why there were covers on him because the world was _burning _and the last thing he needed was more warmth. He was too weak to move, though, too settled to push himself up from the bed - it had to be a bed - and find a more relaxing place to recline.

He hadn't noticed the weight leave his bed until it returned, settling against his opposite side as Blaine - it had to be Blaine - pulled him closer, letting him rest against his chest. His shirt was cool, wonderfully cool, and Kurt curled his fingers in it, burying his face against it. Then there was a cold cloth against the back of his neck and Kurt moaned, the sheer ecstasy of relief prying him away from Blaine long enough that he could dab the cool cloth of it against the rest of his face.

Each gentle touch seemed to soothe the burn a little more, making it tolerable, but even so he clung to Blaine and his merciful cool-warmth, his heart strong and steady under his ear as Blaine put the cloth aside and rubbed his hand up and down his side, gentle, lulling patterns.

It had to be late, Kurt reasoned, because opening his eyes wasn't an option, sleep too heavy upon him. But he relaxed and tried to enjoy the simple contact, because even in a world that was burning, Blaine still managed to be there for him to help quench the flames.

. o .

Kurt awoke a countless amount of time later, muscles aching as he hunched deeper into his blanket cocoon. He shuffled closer to the warm, heavy weight beside him, shivering compulsively as he buried his fingers against the soft, almost downy material of Blaine's shirt.

"G'morning," Blaine mumbled, kissing the top of Kurt's head once without moving. Drawing small circles with his thumb against Kurt's side, he asked, "I need to get up for a minute. Is that okay?"

Kurt nodded in acquiescence, even though, limp and miserable as he was, he didn't budge. Blaine slid out carefully from underneath him, a soft, longing whine escaping Kurt as he wrapped his arms around one of Blaine's pillows, breathing in his scent instead.

Blaine returned another countless eternity later, sliding onto the bed beside him. He didn't slid under the covers like before, resting his back against the headboard instead. Kurt didn't mind - he shuffled closer to him so he could rest his cheek against one of his thighs, rubbing it a little to express his appreciation.

"Do you want me to stay home?" Blaine asked, reaching down to card his fingers through his hair. "Or do you want me to take a half-day?"

Kurt's immediate reply was muffled against Blaine's leg, which was good, because even in his disoriented state - it was morning already? - all he wanted was to pull Blaine back down and huddle in his warmth until the discomfort passed. Licking his lips instead, he rasped, "Go to work, B. I'll be fine."

Blaine clearly didn't share the same sentiment, brushing his fingers methodically through Kurt's hair until Kurt was almost lost to sleep again. Then he shuffled out of his grasp and left Kurt alone for a time, returning almost an hour later (by Kurt's best count, which he doubted was accurate) dressed and ready to go.

Kurt hadn't moved, which he belatedly realized was bad because Blaine and he _both _had morning classes. The mere thought of leaving his bed was intolerable, though. He had never missed a class before, not even after one particularly horrible night of food poisoning, but surely one day wouldn't kill his career.

"I'll be back around lunch," Blaine promised, tucking the blanket around him more comfortably. "There's a glass of water and some Tylenol on your nightstand," he added, rubbing Kurt's shoulder through the blanket slowly. "I'll take care of your classes." With that, he was gone, only a fleeting, "I love you," accompanying him.

Kurt debated getting up to shower and fulfill his worldly obligations before rolling over onto one side and picking up the Tylenol cup, already measured out for a dose, and downing it instead.

Then he hunched down in the blankets and let sleep claim him once more.

. o .

Kurt didn't wake up until nearly noon, startling when he heard the door shut. Mind racing, he wondered if it would even be possible to fight off a murdered drugged on sleep and Tylenol before Blaine's familiar voice called out, "Kurt? I'm home."

He relaxed back into the mattress, opening his eyes to slits to regard him as he entered their bedroom a moment later. "Hey, honey," he greeted, expression softening from hard, worried lines into softer ones. "How are you feeling?" He had a small Styrofoam container in one hand and a handful of crackers in the other, setting both aside in favor of sitting down on the bed and rubbing Kurt's back.

Kurt let his eyelids slide shut as he shrugged, not wanting to verbalize his discomfort. He was used to his dad walking in on him some mornings to find him in a similar state of disrepair; he had never known what to do then, either, patting his shoulder once and offering him extra blankets before disappearing for the day to work at the shop. Kurt was used to fending for himself, because try though he might, his dad didn't know how to handle sick people. Not like Kurt's mother had.

A cool hand pulled him back from his reverie, stroking back his hair and resting briefly against his forehead. "Let me get you another washcloth," Blaine prompted, gone before Kurt could even think to protest and back before the embarrassment that he had become so _clingy _could even die down. "Here," he offered, dabbing it against his cheeks before resting it over his forehead. Kurt stifled a moan through sheer force of will alone, head tipping against Blaine's hand gratefully.

Once they were more settled on the bed, Blaine shuffling closer so Kurt could rest his cheek against his thigh again, Blaine explained that he had taken care of Kurt's morning classes and called Isabelle to let her know that he wouldn't be in.

"I can't believe this happened," Kurt murmured when he was done, lulled by the gentle rhythm of Blaine's hand tracing mindless patterns over his back.

"Everyone gets sick," Blaine reminded, scratching lightly along his spine. "They understand."

Kurt made a disgruntled noise that remained open to interpretation. He didn't like missing work at all, and he dreaded the thought of missing classes. But even the thought of crossing the short distance between him and the shower was too much, so he tucked his cheek more comfortably against Blaine's leg and asked, "When's your next class?"

He already knew, but it was easier to listen to Blaine talk than to answer questions, and he had almost dozed off again before Blaine added unexpectedly, "Oh, and I brought you some chicken noodle soup. It's not vegan, I promise."

Kurt grunted in acknowledgment, stomach queasy from lack of food or sickness, he couldn't quite tell. Either way, eating seemed like a bad idea, so he deflected by saying, "Thank you. Well-meaning as she is, I don't think Rachel's ever _had _real chicken to know that the vegan variety isn't the same."

Blaine hummed, setting his satchel aside and shuffling down the bed, careless of rumpling his clothing as he pulled Kurt closer. "I won't tell her you're sick," he promised. "I'll let her assume you're working on a big project for Isabelle."

Kurt rubbed his cheek against Blaine's shoulder in thanks. He didn't respond immediately, at last saying, "These cardigans are sinful. Why did you ever wear a blazer in the first place?"

Blaine laughed, trailing his fingers thoughtfully along Kurt's side. "You love the blazer," he murmured, kissing his cheek.

Kurt hummed, finding a comfortable niche in the fabric as Blaine pulled the lukewarm cloth off his forehead and set it aside. "I love _you_," he reminded, curling his fingers in Blaine's shirt and almost arching with pleasure when he ran a palm down Kurt's back slowly, up and down, soothingly simple.

"I love you, too," Blaine said, settling in for a nap and hugging him closer as he did so.

Kurt considered getting up to call Isabelle back and apologize for not coming in, but then Blaine's hand was rubbing his back again and he couldn't have moved for the world.

. o .

The worst of the flu lasted for four days.

Kurt passed his time in a haze, slouching out of bed every now and then for a shower while Blaine changed the sheets. Kurt had never liked the smell of sickness, and it was a relief to sink into the warm sheets after Blaine had finished towel-drying his hair, clad in a fresh pair of clothes. He ate (and promptly threw up) soup, his stomach settling after the second day. No matter how achy and sore and miserable he was feeling, Blaine was there, fluffing up his pillows, fetching ginger ale, and even downloading Netflix onto his computer so Kurt could watch _Say Yes to the Dress _and make offended noises at the selections.

"These dresses are so tacky," Kurt sighed, resting his cheek on Blaine's shoulder.

"Some of them are nice," Blaine argued. "I like the one with the frills."

"And _that _is why I'm the one designing the dresses for our wedding," Kurt said, patting his hip. Blaine pouted at him, but he ignored it, voice going a little wistful as he added, "It'll be amazing."

"I know," Blaine said, kissing the top of his head. "I can't wait to be your husband."

Kurt hummed, snuggling closer against him and echoing, "I can't wait to be _yours._"

And doubtless the wedding would be amazing. Kurt would make it so. And marriage would mean that their lives would change.

But love wasn't just fine wines and slow dances and stolen kisses. Love was washing the sheets so that they were always fresh when Kurt fell into them; love was wearing one of Blaine's old Dalton hoodies while he was away so he could bury his nose in it and _breathe; _and love was, eventually, a new red-and-yellow bow tie sitting on the pillow beside Blaine on Wednesday morning.


End file.
